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“Boyfriend,” I cut in smoothly. “Whatever Ronnie told you, it wasn’t her he was talking about. Ronnie knows me. You tell him that if he drags me—Ray Crawford—or my girl into his mess again, I’ll make sure he regrets it.”

Kelly curses, struggling against my grip on her wrist. She shifts her glare to Stacy then back to me. Finally she curses and stops fighting. I let her go, but keep myself carefully positioned between her and Stacy in case she’s not really done.

“You’re lying,” she says, but the fight is gone.

“I am not,” I say.

She glances around the now mostly empty bar like she’s looking for a likely candidate for her husband’s floozy. She huffs, shoots another death glare at Stacy, then storms out with the grace of a hurricane. I sigh and resume my seat across from Stacy. I lift two fingers, signaling Tiffany.

“Can I get another beer? And a refill for the lady’s drink.”

Stacy exhales, sharply, picking up the chair that fell over when she jumped up. She places it at the small table, gripping the back so tight her knuckles turn white. She closes her eyes as she inhales. She holds her breath, then takes the seat, pressing her hands to her cheeks, then she shudders.

“Thanks…” she says, shakily. “I… I didn’t know. Shit… just my fucking luck. I didn’t do anything Ray. Shit. I didn’t do anything to deserve that.”

I frown, staring at her. I’m trying to decide if she’s serious or not.

“You were seeing her husband,” I say, keeping my voice carefully neutral.

“But I didn’t know!” she says. “He lied and besides, we didn’t do anything. We didn’t even kiss—we talked, that’s it. I liked him, he seemed nice.”

“He’s a shit,” I say, almost growling. “And people talk. A lot. Add to that you’ve been seen around town with Monica, which connects you to the Crawfords. People know her and they know you. You get a reputation like that and it will spread faster than a wildfire.”

“I didn’t know,” she says, her voice small. “Ray, you have to believe me.”

“I do. But what I don’t believe…” I lean forward, my eyes locking with hers, “is why someone like you ends up here, waiting for Ronnie freaking Keller. What’s wrong with Manhattan? Not enough men down there?”

Tiffany returns with our drinks. Stacy sips hers slowly. She’s drinking vodka. I smell it. She sips then sets it down and lifts a finger.

“I’ll tell you—on one condition.”

“Hit me.”

“This stays between us.”

“My lips are sealed.”

She looks down at her glass, swirling the clear liquid.

“I’m lonely, Ray,” she says, shrugging and shaking her head. “Monica has left the city. Erica’s busy all the time, when she’s not working she’s up here. It’s just…I used to have friends, laughter…something to look forward to. Now I don’t even have someone to call on a Friday night.” She hesitates, then adds witha small smile, “Also, and don’t you dare laugh or I swear you’ll be wearing this drink…I have a soft spot for mountain men.”

“You mean, you have a thing for bad tattoos and bad manners?” I ask, keeping my voice deadpan.

She giggles and takes another sip as her cheeks color. Her scent is… incredible.

“What? What’s wrong with them? They’re real. Rough around the edges, sure. But hey, they use their hands for more than just typing emails. What’s not to like?”

“Well, off the top of my head? They smell bad.”

She was taking a sip when I smart off and she laughs so hard that vodka sprays from her nose. I watch her—really watch her. Laughing like that, she doesn’t look like trouble. Just someone who's been through too much and still finds a way to laugh anyway.

“Oh my God—what?”

“I’m serious. You smell like lavender shampoo. They smell like horse shit.”

Her laughter rings through the bar, unguarded and warm. She clutches her stomach, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Okay, okay, maybe notthatrugged.”